


Candle & Chime

by feyrelay



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Breeding Kink, Daddy Kink, Feminization, First Time, Lingerie, M/M, Makeup, Misunderstandings, Possessive Behavior, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 22:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17589989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay
Summary: Peter is 18 and done waiting for Tony to come to his tower and ask him to let down his hair. Or, well. It's Tony's tower, and it's a compound, not a tower and-Peter just wants to get laid, okay? MJ thinks getting in touch with his feminine side might help.(A re-post of one of my Yule prompt fills; I've decided to host them separately to make them more accessible.)





	1. Candle - Peter POV

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sparcina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/gifts), [italo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/italo/gifts).



> Content: Peter is 18, but there's gonna be some feminization (and all the gender rolebending and commentary that entails), some panties, some makeup
> 
> Unbeta'd. Inspired by an old HP fanfic called Tower Princess, Ravished by Amanuensis1 which can be read here: http://www.amanuensis1.com/towerprincessravished.html

Whenever Peter dares to dream, it’s always Tony who comes  _to him_. It’s Tony that finally steps over that line in the ash, drawn there by age and May and money and mentorship and death and the media and-

Oh, god. Breathe. Start again.

In Peter’s secret and sacred heart, it’s Tony who initiates things. It’s Tony who wants him so badly that he’s willing to wreck himself on the sharp rocks hidden in the misting waterfall of Peter’s desire, as it tumbles endlessly down off the fall of fantasy to spill without clemency into the gentle pool called love.

It’ll never happen, he knows. The loopy, grey area of seventeen had passed without indecent comment from Stark, and the finally finally finally full-fledged freedom of eighteen had done the same. It’s no longer a legal matter, and yet. Nothing.

Peter Parker will never be pursued. He must pursue.

If only he had any idea how to do so. Liz had been the last, his one and lonely, and so much has been done and undone in the story of Peter’s life since then, that it seems silly to even mention it.

He asks the two most devious people he knows, instead.

It’s hard to get MJ and Natasha in the same room, just due to their schedules, but he manages it a few days before Christmas. Nat’s on her way to Casa Barton and her plane will be landing today in New York coming from… well, he doesn’t know where, exactly. MJ gets a break at school, and she and Peter talk about that as they head through her apartment to her bedroom, where they will wait for Natasha. MJ’s parents will be out for several hours taking in dinner and a show after they drop Chernobyl off at the doggy boarding place for the holiday MJ’s family will be embarking on tomorrow. Nat is meant to text Peter as soon as she lands and he’ll give her MJ’s address so they can get this done.

Of course, she’s already sitting on the little reading bench in the window when they walk in. She rises.

Peter envelops her in a bone-crushing hug as Nat breathes, “Hello, spiderbait,” fondly in his ear. Her accent is up like a cat’s dander, and he thinks she must have been in either Russia or the Baltics recently.

Or maybe that’s just what she wants him to think?

Shaking his head, Peter pulls back and formally introduces the two women. To MJ’s credit, she doesn’t question how Natasha knew her address. They get down to business as MJ claps her hands and says, “I now call this meeting of the ‘Get Peter That Iron Dick’ Society to order.”

Nat’s eye twitches, but Peter knows it’s all for show. If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t have happened at all.

MJ settles onto her own bed and Peter commandeers her rolling desk chair, pivoting to face the room. He rests his forehead on his propped-up fists, defeated already. “I dunno if I can do this…”

“This being, seduce Stark over Christmas, right?” Nat confirms, smirking.

“Yeah, but-” Peter starts.

“Hold up,” MJ interrupts, making a timeout symbol with her hands. “What about your Aunt May? She’s not coming with you to stay in Albany too?”

“Nah, she’s gone to visit my Uncle Ben’s parents in Pennsylvania. They’re not super close since he died, but they’re getting older and Ben was an only child, I mean, except for my dad; they need someone to help out with some stuff and the holidays are a good time to feed two birds with one scone-”

“Back to the point,” Natasha redirects, quirking an eyebrow at his euphemism, “…the bottleneck in this plan is Peter’s ability to be the seducer and not the seduced. Or rather, his inability.”

Peter’s not even offended. It’s true. He looks up at MJ, helplessly.

“Well, first off, we want you to look your best. What are you gonna wear?” she says pragmatically.

“I dunno… I like dark colors, I guess? I could wear, like, a nicer tee-shirt than usual?”

MJ buries her face in her hands, despairing, but Nat is more optimistic. “That could actually work.”

The two teens look at her, prompting her to elaborate, “Well, the key to seduction is a two-pronged attack. First, you make the mark comfortable; don’t change the situation entirely from their normal comfort zone, keep it familiar. Then you take just a few key elements and flip the script. That naturally sets the subject’s mind to considering all the new possibilities and voila… you’re suddenly on the menu when you weren’t before.”

“What, really?” Peter questions, fascinated at this look into the world of espionage.

Natasha shrugs. “It’s what  _I_  did to him. Familiar: hot secretary Pepper says he can’t have, redhead. New: kicks Happy’s ass and is actually friendly to Pepper and tries to be professional.”

“Okay,” MJ returns slowly, thinking. “But how can Peter make a tee-shirt new and exciting?”

Nat leans back and slides opens the bedroom window without turning around, smirking. “You leave that to me; I gotta hit the compound to debrief anyway. Teach him how to make himself pretty in the meantime. Manscape,” she says, with airquotes. “No lip stuff, just a touch of black liner and maybe some shadow. A whisper of highlight.”

MJ salutes, getting up as Peter sputters. “What’s going on?” he asks nervously.

She spins him in the chair, so he’s facing her closed laptop as well as the mirror and souped-up ringlight behind it. There’s an array of makeup set up on the little stand next to the desk, tucked beside MJ’s wireless printer.

Oh, fuck.

\---

MJ ends up letting him do the, uh, most intimate… of the trimming himself, but helps him with shaving his legs as he sits on the edge of the tub, lap covered in a thick towel. He has to admit, his legs do feel nice when he rubs them together afterwards, like a cricket.

“I know, right?!” MJ says gleefully when she sees him do this, watching his reflection in the bathroom mirror as she washes off her hands.

“Yeah,” Peter breathes. “Not sure if I could handle it as a regular thing, but it  _is_  nice just this once.”

She flicks water in his direction before she jams her face up into his space. “Oh baby,” she coos, faux-aggressively, “…how privileged you are that society gives you that choice.”

She’s smiling though, now, so he smiles back. They rest for a few since he’s not due in Albany for hours yet, and they have to wait on Natasha’s instructions.

They watch  _Les Misérables_  on her laptop, snuggled platonically in her bed for the umpteenth time, with Peter mostly just listening and thinking. He wonders if Tony will even like all this feminine stuff. On the one hand, maybe Tony won’t like it. Peter’s a guy and he wants Tony to want  _that_. Neither of them are girls; that’s what makes it all so fucking gay. MJ says it’s exactly what Natasha had explained: Peter, familiar, but made new. Shocking. It’ll be a homecoming and an awakening all at once.

She’s right, and showing up to the compound like this really sets the scene and make it unmistakable what Peter wants from his mentor. The trappings of womanhood are inexorably bound up in seduction, our culture has decided, and Peter knows the feminine look on him will make him look like nothing else so much as fair game. He might actually get to be the prey and not the hunter, like Peter had wanted to begin with. ( _Submissive_ , his mind supplies.  _Ready-to-eat._ )

He shivers and tries to watch the movie.

They’re getting to the part where the dark-haired actor playing Grantaire keeps pinning the blond leader in his red jacket with pining little glances as talk of revolution brews and bubbles over.

Peter snuggles further into MJ’s side. He loves this bit, because it’s a scant bit of queer representation in a historical context, but hates it too. It’s too much of a rearview mirror, and all the objects are far, far closer than they may appear.

“Tell me it won’t be like this,” he says wistfully as Enjolras returns his drunken comrade’s glances with barely-concealed indifference and confusion.

MJ shuts the laptop gently and nudges him up so they can face each other. “You think you’re the Grantaire in this situation?”

“Well… yeah…” Peter mumbles, looking down.

“Right. So you don’t think it’s possible that maybe the cynical, older alcoholic in your life might be the Grantaire? The one who holds himself back because he thinks he’s not worthy of his friends’ love? The one who doesn’t necessarily believe in the feasibility of the revolution, but contributes all he can anyway, out of a sense of duty and love for his friends and his young, idealistic crush?”

Peter gapes. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“And I suppose there’s no way you could be Enjolras, right?” she continues to needle. “I mean you’d  _never_  spear-head a fight for the people, for the little guys, and you’d  _never_  hold yourself to such an impossibly high standard that rushing to head up ‘the cause’ with far too little planning literally gets you killed.”

Peter blushes and looks at his phone for an excuse to dodge her mirthful gaze. “Shut up.”

“You know, Iron Man isn’t the only one whose suit is Robespierre red,” she says seriously, but Peter’s already distracted by Natasha’s series of texts. He pulls up the convo where it’s saved under her contact name, which is just emoji spider+gun.

The first text: use purple eyeshadow, not too much, and a warm gold highlighter

Then: also, you can wear whatever for the car ride; he won’t be there to greet you and I’ve left your outfit under the pillows on your bed. you’ll know what to do.

And finally: breathe, spiderbait

Peter texts back a thumb’s up emoji and lets MJ in on the game plan. Ned shows up just as Michelle finishes with the pencil eyeliner, in a plummy black, that edges at just the corners of his eyes.

As MJ gives Ned strict instructions that he’s not to say anything at all, unless it’s complimentary, Peter checks his phone again. There’s a text from welder+sunglasses apologizing for not being there to greet Peter when he gets to the compound. Apparently, Natasha has roped Tony into taking her to dinner before she heads out to see Clint and his family.

Ned is immediately fascinated by the robotic ringlight and the way it’s been jury-rigged to plug into MJ’s webcam and perform headtracking. Genius that she is, she didn’t want to have to constantly adjust it every time she did one of her Sailor J-style parody makeup tutorials. Ned tinkers with that for a while as MJ applies a light dusting of iridescent red-violet shadow to Peter’s lids, and a wash of gold to each cheek. Waterproof mascara, just a hint, finishes things off.

Both boys stare when she’s done, Peter at himself in the mirror and Ned at Peter as well, directly, scooting back along the window seat to take in the full effect. “Damn,” he says, awed.

Peter doesn’t know what to feel. He enjoys being a guy and would never want to be anything but a boy. He just didn’t know the options included being a  _pretty_  boy. Michelle completes the look by scrunching some product through his hair so it’s extra soft and keeps it’s hold on the tousling she does, artfully. Then she hooks a silver ear cuff, the kind that winds around the shell of the ear and requires no piercing, onto his right ear and Ned picks out the most gender-neutral assortment of bracelets he can find in MJ’s collection. It ends up being a black leather cuff and a red and blue braided string bracelet. MJ herself adds a strand of purple-grey pearls to the opposite wrist, a gold charm hanging delicately from the clasp. Peter licks over his front teeth at the girliness of the item, but she just says, “Trust me.”

He has bigger problems anyway, because he’s just realized he didn’t get Tony a gift for Christmas. He’d meant to, but had been stumped at what to buy a billionaire and then got so caught up in the seduction plan that he’d forgotten entirely. He voices these concerns to the group and Ned just snorts.

MJ explains, “Peter, he’s not going to care. You’ve got to have some self-confidence. The whole point of turning on all this goddess-given feminine charm you’ve been hiding is that, well…  _you_  are the gift.”

Dazed at that, Peter packs up his things and gets ready to head out and meet the driverless transport that’ll soon take him to the compound. It’ll be a long ride to Albany, and he’ll have plenty of time to think.

MJ snaps a picture and then Ned claps him on the shoulder, saying, “Just be yourself, man.”

Peter’s answering smile is nervous and wry. “I thought you said nobody would want that, once.”

Ned and MJ share a look before they wrap him in a group hug, careful not to muss anything. Ned holds Peter by the shoulders after everyone pulls back, and is sincere when he says, “Tony Stark will.”

\---

Twenty minutes into the drive, he gets a text from Ned linking to a playlist he and MJ put together quickly to get him “into the feminine mindset”. It’s mostly pop and it’s long enough that it lasts him the rest of the drive. FRIDAY lets him into the empty compound and he heads straight to his room there, to finish getting ready.

Natasha must have been shopping on the way up here, because every available surface of the room is littered with unlit candles. Peter makes himself a dead weight and flops onto the queen-sized bed with a huff. Tony had upgraded him from a single for his eighteenth.

He whips out his phone and texts Nat, “These are not what us young folks mean when we say ‘lit’…”

Peter gets back a wide-angle selfie of her with Tony, and surprisingly, Cap and Barnes. She’s flipping the camera off and it looks like they’re all at a bar. The worst of the wounds have long been mended between the four, but he never expected to see them out on the town together.

A few minutes later, the phone rings. He picks up to hear Nat’s voice, accent 95% gone, dropping only the barest hint when she uses the Russian endearment for his name.

“Hey,  _Petya_ , I’m in the ladies’ room; just wanted to give you a head’s up that Daddy Warbucks is letting me take the Audi to the farm. I’m heading out now, and so are Steve and the  _Soldat_. I tempted them into a meandering pub crawl to give you time to make the trip, light the candles, and get dressed,” she explains. “FRIDAY probably already sent a second car to grab Tony.”

“Oh…,” he says, a little uncomfortable. “I haven’t even looked for the clothes yet, but, uh… I kinda wanted him to be sober for this. It’s my first time, you know.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” she says gently. “He had a glass of wine at Caffé Italia but he’s been on soda and lime since then. I told him you had a project to show him that he might want to be coherent for.”

 _Oh._  Warmth blooms up from Peter’s chest and when he rolls to his stomach the pressure of the mattress underneath him presses it up into his face too.

“Besides,” Natasha continues, “…Steve needed someone to be his sober buddy while Buck challenged me to a vodka-drinking contest.”

Peter snorts, then questions, “Can Sergeant Barnes even get drunk after all the serum he’s had?”

“Nope!” Nat chirps. “…But he  _still_  lost.”

\---

He runs around and lights all the candles first, knowing he doesn’t have much time. It’s starting to get past sunset, and he knows it will be dark soon, but the room is still well-lit enough that he gasps when he pulls out the outfit Natasha chose for him.

It’s one of  _Tony_ ’s old tees, a black one with an odd purple-red slash screen-printed diagonally across the chest. Peter’s seen him wear it under a black, summer-weight suit jacket before, when he wants to look casual but stylish. It’s one of Peter’s favorites.

( _Familiar, but new_ , he thinks.)

Underneath the folded shirt, though, is absolute proof that Natasha went shopping before she came upstate, because there’s a pair of silky and sheer grey-black stockings and a pair of boycut satin panties with a built-in garter belt, in a pearlescent grey-violet. There’s also a note in Nat’s handwriting taped to a bottle of high-quality lube (just in case, it says) and beside it: a tiny tube of clear, slick lip balm that almost gets lost in the blankets.

( _Fucking hell, Nat._ )


	2. Chime - Tony POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content: Warning for anger, denial, use of the word 'slut', daddy kink, and breeding kink/unsafe sex

It’s been a long day, okay?

Tony has been moping around for most of the morning, listening as FRIDAY chimed on the hour, every hour, reminding him of the passage of time. He’s anxious to see Peter later; the kid’s coming up to stay for the holiday while Aunt Bae is out of town.

He’s been wracking his brain the think of what he can give Pete for a gift, and has come up with nothing so far. What does a billionaire get for the man who has  _nothing_?

To make matters worse, his favorite radio station, the one that normally plays a good mixture of true classic rock and late nineties/early aughts post-punk, has devolved into an incongruous mixture of Christmas music and “alternative” top 40s of at least ten years past. Stuff Peter would like, probably, which just makes this infernal waiting worse.

FRIDAY chimes again, announcing that there’s someone to see him, and for a wonderful moment he thinks Peter has shown up early. It’s just Natasha, though, and she greets him with her arms laden with shopping. Before he has a chance to ask about her purchases, she asks if there’s any of that special Russian tea about, you know, the one Pepper used to keep in the pantry just for her? He rummages around for several minutes trying to find it, and by the time he thinks to check just the normal kitchen cabinets where the rest of the tea is, instead of going off Nat’s suggestion that it  _must_  be on one of the pantry shelves, well. She’s already stashed her bags somewhere, and now it’s gonna bug him.

Later, he’ll think that curiosity played right into her hands, because he jumps at the chance to observe her in a more relaxed setting and is pleased when she asks if he has dinner plans. Since Peter’s not slated to arrive until later, they hit up Caffé Italia. Tony will get Peter his favorite dish and bring it home, yeah, that sounds like a plan.

They end up talking about his  _protégé_  quite a bit at dinner, especially when Nat mentions Peter had told her he’s got big plans for the night. Tony limits himself to one glass of wine, curiosity once again piqued, and wonders what it could be.

Steve and Barnes are waiting for them outside the restaurant, leaning against their respective motorcycles saying the holidays are a good time to catch up. And, okay. Fair enough.

It’s not until Barnes challenges Nat to a drinking competition that Tony really starts to suspect things are off. Not so much because of all the vodka or Nat’s willingness to go along with it, but  _Steve_. Since when was Steve Rogers okay with wasting money on something as pointless as putting alcohol in a super-soldier? A super-soldier who has poor enough social skills without adding alcohol, no matter how ineffective, to the mix.

They’re  _stalling_ , the little shits.

Tony realizes this about the time they hit the third bar of the evening, even though neither Barnes nor Romanoff will accept anything but one particular brand of Russian vodka. What’s the point of moving locales, then, if not to eat up time? When Nat snaps a selfie, of all things, and sends it to a contact saved under emoji spider+fish bait hook, then promptly heads to the restroom… he’s had enough.

“So what’s the big, hairy-ass deal?” he chimes in, stopping Cap and Buck’s conversation in its tracks.

They look at each other and then back at him, and behind him Tony hears Romanoff sigh.

“Just play along when you get home, Tony. Let him have this,” she instructs, giving up the game.

Let him have what?

Cap cuts in with, “Did you get him a present, at least?” He looks genuinely distressed that someone like Peter might not receive a present on Christmas, once again proving that Steve Rogers is Santa’s biggest little helper.

Tony rubs the back of his neck with his left arm. “I didn’t know what to get him…”

Steve turns to his lover, distressed, and the dark-haired man holds his hands, both metal and skin, up in surrender. “Like I know what punks from Queens want for Christmas, Rogers?”

“Why don’t you just ask him?” Steve suggests.

Tony, wanting them off his back, video calls Peter. It connects after a few chiming rings, but all he gets is a view of the ceiling. It’s not the popcorn ceiling of May’s apartment or the interior of a car either. It looks like the compound, and the light is flickering oddly.

“Pete?”

“Yes, Mr. St-” Peter starts, but then course-corrects. “…Uh, Tony, I mean. Yes?”

“Why can’t I see your face?” he says, exasperated. It’s like Skyping with a grandma who doesn’t know how the webcam works.

Natasha is smirking behind her hand.

“Uh… m’busy, sir, did you need something?” the kid asks.

“Well, it looks like you’re at the compound,” he guesses, and the tiny gasp on the other end of the line tells him he’s right. “And I just wondered what you wanted for Christmas?”

“Uh… I-don’t-know-maybe-world-peace? Gotta go!” Peter says, all in a rush. He disconnects the call before Tony can tell him there’s shrimp and broccoli in cream sauce from the restaurant, dropped off for him via drone, in the refrigerated cargo area at the storage bay.

Hmmmm. Time to go home.

\---

Imagine his surprise when he walks into Peter’s room to find the boy applying juicy lip balm in the mirror by candlelight. Wearing lingerie, bent over the dresser so he can see in the mirror. The lines of the garters point like arrows up to Peter’s plush ass…

Once his blood pressure equalizes and his soul returns to his body, Tony turns tail and slams the door.

He stalks back down the corridor toward the kitchen, incensed.

Who does the little slut think he is? Dodging Tony’s video call and getting all dolled up for someone else, using the nice room  _Tony_ gave him at the compound to entertain somebody else, probably one of his little school chums that won’t even know what they’re doing and will come in thirty seconds once they’re admitted entry to Peter’s tight little hole. Pete will be left wanting,  _fuck_. Or, god, what if it’s worse than that and the dumb jock doesn’t prep Pete enough and he gets hurt?

He’s lost in his rage and fantasy, and whips around sharply at the feel of a hand on his shoulder. Peter looks scared, eyes bigger than normal, and…

Wait, is that makeup?

He plants a thumb on the side of the kid’s jaw and grips his chin. Tony turns his head this way and that while Peter whimpers, and the gold glitter dusting Peter’s cheekbones catches in the light.

It looks fucking amazing, and Tony steps cleanly away, not sure how much of this he can handle. Is this what Nat and Steve and Barnes were covering for? Fucking traitors.

“Next time you wanna get laid, kid, don’t come here to do it, okay?” Tony guts out.

Peter’s eyes drop and he fists his hands in the bottom of his tee shirt as he nods miserably. He looks like he might cry.

Wait. That’s  _his_  shirt. Fuckin’ A. It’s the one he knows Peter likes on him.

Tony surges forward and catches Peter up, hands smoothing over the garters in the back as he lifts Peter up onto the kitchen counter. He feels like a goddamned idiot.

“Don’t cry, baby; you’ll ruin your makeup. Is this… was this-”

He can hardly say it, but he has to. Peter shivers, arching his neck into Tony’s hands as if he thinks this might be the last time Tony ever touches him.

“Was this all for me? You’re not, uh, entertaining in your room?” he asks, just to be sure.

“Of course it’s for you,” Peter whispers, eyes wet but locked on Tony’s lips all the same. He looks like if he wasn’t so sad, he’d be laughing in Tony’s face for his stupidity. “Who else would it be for?”

The kiss is messy, sliding glossy and sparking bright, but Peter moans into it. Tony cradles him along the jaw with one hand, pinky brushing a cuffed ear. The other hand glides down over Peter’s shoulder, feels the familiar texture of the tee under his hands, and then smooths down to the kid’s wrist. He pulls back to breathe and sees that Peter has a pearl bracelet on. Why is that so fucking hot?

“Look at you, sweetheart, all dressed up and nowhere to be…” Tony growls, using humor to hide how affected he is.

Peter scoots forward on the counter, legs opening to accommodate Tony’s place in front of him, and says, “So take me somewhere.”

Tony does just that, leading Peter back to the candlelit bedroom. He pushes Peter onto the bed and then follows him, reaching over to flick on the heated mattress pad he’s added since the last time Peter was here. The younger man’s eyes shine in this lighting, and Tony is nearly overcome. He opens his mouth, but-

“Do we really need to talk about this?” Peter pleads, hand gently petting at Tony’s facial hair. “It’s been such a long time coming.”

“Give me three questions,” Tony begs, feeling like he’s making a deal with a raggle-taggle gypsy the way Peter’s eyes are outlined and keen. Peter nods, slow, and swallows. “First, is this a one-time thing?”

“I hope not,” he answers, looking like his heart is choking him in his throat. It looks like it costs him, and that won’t do.

Tony licks a hot stripe up that throat to soothe as well as inflame, loving the way Peter arches back and just takes it. “I agree. Next question: are you my Christmas gift?”

Peter breathes in hard through his nose as Tony straddles him and awaits the answer. It doesn’t take long, and Peter catches his eyes to say, “If you permit it.”

Tony kisses down the other man’s chest in reward. Such a good boy, he is. “Finally, have you ever done this before?”

Peter shakes his head fitfully, overwhelmed at Tony’s proximity to his cock as he looks down the line of his body at him.

Satisfied, Tony ghosts his mouth over the wet spot staining the satin-y panties. He blows his hot breath over the bulge there and relishes the way Peter’s legs shake. He wants to laugh at the kid, but the truth is, Tony’s not far off from there either.

He backs off and flips Peter like a pancake, yanking the lingerie down and off the kid’s ass, but he knows the front is still caught over Pete’s erection. He hopes the wet satin, warmed by the heat from the mattress will really do it for Peter because Tony’s just discovered that Peter shaved his goddamned legs for this and his stamina is fucking  _shot._

He presses Peter’s hips into the mattress and bites at a creamy ass cheek, just to hear the eighteen-year-old gasp, but he catches something out of the corner of his eye. Holy shit, is that-

Tony’s fingers find the flared head of a black plug nestled in Peter’s hole and fuck his stamina, Tony himself has actually  _been shot_ , that’s the only explanation for the punched out feeling in his stomach, and he wants to check for blood, see if the shooter hit anything vital.

He must make a choking noise, because Peter hums and explains, “Got bored waiting for you; it took longer than I thought it would for you to get home from wherever Nat had you. Went snooping and found this in your room…sorry…”

“Why, why-” Tony manages, breath ragged.

“Thought it’d be more girly,” Peter pants as Tony flicks the end of the plug. “… if you could just slide right in.”

Tony takes the damned thing out and this time it’s Peter who chokes on the feeling. The older man bends down and presses his tongue fully to the fluttering, wet entrance he’s been presented with. They spend long minutes like that until there’s no oxygen left in Peter for him to moan out, and Tony relents. He wipes his chin on Peter’s other ass cheek, the one without the bite mark.

“That’s hot as fuck, baby boy, but if we’re gonna keep doing this, you should know that I intend to take great pleasure and great swathes of time getting you ready for me, each and every time. Got it?”

“Yes, yes, yes, daddy,” Peter grounds out, brain offline, and Tony doesn’t even blink, just parts Peter with his thumbs and slides home in one long, controlled thrust.

Every thrust after that is the opposite of controlled and Tony makes sure Peter gets rocked into his own damp, warm lingerie on every single one. He’s gonna make this kid ruin those panties the way Tony’s ruining him right now, if it’s the last thing he ever does.

“Please, please, wanted this so long…” Peter begs, babbling as he tries and fails to push himself up to his hands and knees so he can thrust back. He seems to have forgotten his own super-strength.

“How long, honey?” Tony cuts in, breaths harsh. “How long did you want daddy inside you?”

“Fucking  _years_ , Mr. Stark, you must know how much I-…  _fuck_ -” Peter spits as his voice cracks. He comes hard, pressed into the mattress, chest heaving even from where Tony is pressed against it from the back.

“No, I didn’t know, not all the way. I suspected maybe; you’re so submissive and so pretty, I thought surely you’d find someone your own age to take care of you,” he explains, breath puffing against the back of Peter’s neck before he maneuvers them to their sides to spoon. Tony hooks Peter’s leg back over his hip and glides smoothly into him, liking the way he can cradle Pete like this and smooth his left hand over the screen-printed shirt.

“Only wanted you,” Peter admits, voice quiet as he tries hard to catch his breath. Tony grins into his shoulder and presses a kiss through the shirt.

“Good, cause you’re mine now. Gonna keep you so pretty and sated like this, all the time. No makeup required. Never leave the bed. I’ll bring you everything you need and you can just stay full of my come all day long.”

Peter grips at Tony’s forearm like he’s drowning in the idea, but Tony can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Speaking of which, did you forget about making that happen for yourself, too? Getting senile?”

Tony breaks the kid’s hold so he can smooth Peter’s hair back from his face for him. “No, just waiting ‘til you catch your breath. If you’re gonna dress like a slut, you better be ready to get bred like one. We got time, and I wanna make sure you’re ready to take me deep enough that nine months from now, you won’t fit in that shirt.”

Peter laughs at him even as he shivers with want. “You’re joking, right? That’s impossible.”

Tony pulls out roughly just to hear the laugh catch on a moan, and then moves himself bodily over Peter to thrust back in. “Are you sure, Spider-Man? What gender was the one who bit you?”

Peter’s eyes go wide, and he has a coughing fit that makes him rhythmically clench so hard in shock that Tony surprises himself and comes anyway, laughing; it’s almost New Year’s before the tests are in and they get to have their second time together.

( _It was worth it, though_ , Tony smirks to himself.)

**Author's Note:**

> Additionally, MJ's and Ned's playlist for Peter is here: https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLE9IZM-jHkM_kuLWveExm83QJwr4Od_R6
> 
> I originally made it for LeafyGreenQueen773 and then had to write it into the story, cause I'm That Bitch.


End file.
